He was holding himself very straight and stiff, just as he had held himself on that day in the winter when she had so indignantly intervened to save his dog from his ungovernable fury. But he did not seem to resent her attack, and in spite of herself Avery's own resentment began to wane. She suddenly remembered that her very protest was an admission of intimacy of which he would not scruple to avail himself if it suited his purpose, and with this thought in her mind she paused in confusion. "Won't you finish?" said Piers. She turned to leave him. "That's all I have to say." He put out a restraining hand. "Then may I say something?" The request was so humbly uttered that she could not refuse it. She remained where she was. "I should like you to know," said Piers, "that I have never given Miss Rose or any other girl with whom I have flirted the faintest shadow of a reason for believing that I was in earnest. That is the truth--on my honour." "I wonder if--they--would say the same," said Avery. He shrugged his shoulders. "No one ever before accused me of being a lady-killer. As to your other charge against me, it was not I who deceived my grandfather. It was he who deceived himself." "Isn't that a distinction without a difference?" said Avery, in a low voice. She was beginning to wish that she had not spoken with such vehemence. After all, what were his delinquencies to her? She almost expected him to ask the question; but he did not. "Do you mind explaining?" he said. With an effort she made response. "You can't say it was honourable to let your grandfather come home in the belief that you wanted to become engaged to Miss Rose." "Have I said so?" said Piers. Avery paused. She had a sudden feeling of uncertainty as if he had kicked away a foothold upon which she had rashly attempted to rest. "You admit that it was not?" she said. He smiled a little. "I admit that it was not strictly honest, but I didn't see much harm in it. In any case it was high time we came home, and it gave him the impetus to move." "And when are you going to tell him the truth?" said Avery. Piers was silent. Looking at him through the dusk, she was aware of a change in his demeanour, though as to its nature she was slightly doubtful. "And if I don't tell him?" said Piers at length. "You will," she said quickly. "I don't know why I should." Piers' voice was dogged. "He'll know fast enough--when she gets engaged to Guyes." "Know that you have played a double game," said Avery. "Well?" he said. "And if he does?" "I think you will be sorry--then," she said. Somehow she could not be angry any longer. He had accepted her rebuke in so docile a spirit. She did not wholly understand his attitude. Yet it softened her. "Why should I be sorry?" said Piers. She answered him quickly and impulsively. "Because it isn't your nature to deceive. You are too honest at heart to do it and be happy."